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Atsushi hears the door creak open, then a muffled sneeze.
“Dazai-san?” he calls out, pausing with a knife in his hand as he chops vegetables for dinner.
The lack of a response makes him frown. He tosses a handful of freshly diced potatoes into the bubbling pot of curry, wipes his hands on the kitchen towel slung over his shoulder and steps into the corridor.
Dazai is standing there, struggling with his scarf that stubbornly refuses to unravel.
Suppressing a chuckle, Atsushi approaches with a soft smile. "Need a hand?"
"Please." Dazai sighs, his arms dropping in defeat.
Atsushi takes hold of the end of the scarf, carefully unwinding it from around Dazai's neck. He keeps his eyes focused on the task, deliberately avoiding Dazai's face. Lately, every time Dazai is too close, Atsushi’s eyes stray to his lips.
It’s happening more and more often.
He doesn’t know when it started or how it crept up on him. Dazai is… a lot. He’s a walking chaos and has a knack for dragging Atsushi into embarrassing situations more often than not. But he’s also undeniably charming when he chooses to be. He carries Atsushi to bed when he dozes off during their movie nights, so gentle that Atsushi never even stirs. He’s a surprisingly good cook, despite the chaos he makes in the kitchen. What’s more, sometimes, when Dazai leaves for class earlier than Atsushi, Atsushi finds a neatly packed bento waiting for him on the kitchen counter.
And then there’s the fact that Dazai is quite handsome. Atsushi isn’t blind—he knew it the moment he answered the notice on the campus bulletin board about a free room and Dazai opened the door with his boyish smile and permanent bed-hair. It was never an issue, at least until now.
Atsushi undoes the last loop of the scarf around Dazai’s neck when his fingers brush against Dazai's skin. The contact is fleeting, but it startles Atsushi out of his thoughts. It takes him a moment to realize that something is wrong.
He presses the back of his hand against Dazai’s forehead without warning, causing Dazai to flinch in surprise.
“You’re burning up,” Atsushi says. There’s a feverish flush coloring Dazai’s cheeks that Atsushi missed by avoiding looking at Dazai’s face before.
“Well, that would explain why I feel like shit,” Dazai mutters.
“But you never get sick,” Atsushi protests. “Even when you jump into rivers in the middle of winter.”
Dazai gives him a tired look. “I’m only human, Atsushi-kun.” He takes off his coat and stuff the scarf inside a sleeve.
Atsushi frowns. “Go lie down. I’m making curry and I’ll bring you a bowl. And some hot tea.”
Dazai smiles, but it’s faint, far from his wide grins Atsushi is used to. “I must’ve done something right in my previous life to get such a saint for a flatmate.”
“Sure, sure.” Atsushi waves him off, gently but firmly steering Dazai towards his room. “Now go rest.”
*
Dazai must really be feeling awful because when Atsushi steps into the room half an hour later, carrying a steaming bowl of curry and a mug of tea, he finds Dazai huddled under the blankets with only his eyes and the top of his head peeking out. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is slow and shallow, but the lines of discomfort on his face make Atsushi doubt he’s resting well.
Atsushi places the bowl and mug on the bedside table as quietly as he can, careful not to disturb Dazai. Kneeling beside the bed, he reaches out to check his forehead again. The fever hasn’t broken; if anything, Dazai feels even hotter than before.
As Atsushi begins to pull his hand away, Dazai lets out a soft, disgruntled noise and catches his wrist, pressing Atsushi’s hand to his cheek.
“Dazai-san?” Atsushi whispers.
“I’m cold,” Dazai murmurs, his voice barely audible under the blankets.
Atsushi’s heart clenches. “I brought curry. And tea. They’ll help warm you up.”
But Dazai doesn’t seem to hear him. He nuzzles closer into Atsushi’s hand, his eyes still closed, his voice drowsy and distant. “Atsushi-kun is warm.”
Atsushi’s breath catches in his throat. He swallows, trying to steady himself. “At least try to drink some tea,” he urges gently.
Dazai’s grip on his hand tightens just slightly, and he mumbles stubbornly, “Don’t want to.”
Atsushi bites his lip to keep himself from smiling. It’s cute how childish a sick Dazai is. It’s a new side to him Atsushi hasn’t seen before. “Alright,” he whispers. “But you have to eat something soon, okay? It will make you feel better.”
Dazai doesn’t reply, his breathing already evening out as he drifts off, still holding Atsushi’s hand close. A few minutes pass in silence, broken only by the ticking of clock on the wall. Atsushi is about to free his hand from under Dazai’s cheek and quietly leave the room when Dazai stirs. His eyes flutter open just enough to catch Atsushi’s gaze.
“Don’t go,” Dazai whispers, his voice hoarse and laced with exhaustion. “Come into the bed with me.”
Atsushi blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“I’m freezing,” Dazai mumbles, tugging weakly on Atsushi’s hand. “And you’re warm. Come closer.”
Atsushi’s heart races as he hesitates. The request is unexpected, and the thought of getting into the bed next to Dazai feels intimate in a way that makes Atsushi’s cheeks flush. They’ve fallen asleep against each other while watching a movie late at night more than once, but this is a different thing altogether.
Then Dazai tugs on Atsushi’s hand again, and the pleading look in his eyes pushes Atsushi past his hesitation. It can’t be too bad. And if Atsushi can help Dazai recover from this fever faster, then why shouldn’t he help?
“Alright,” Atsushi says softly, trying to sound composed as he kicks off his shoes. He carefully lifts the edge of the blanket and slides underneath, feeling the warmth of Dazai’s body radiating against him.
Dazai immediately shifts closer, nestling into Atsushi’s side and resting his head against Atsushi’s shoulder. Atsushi stiffens for a moment, his senses overwhelmed by Dazai’s proximity, the scent of him, and the way his hair brushes against Atsushi's neck. But then Dazai relaxes. A sigh escapes him as he settles in, and Atsushi forces himself to do the same.
“You’re so warm,” Dazai murmurs, his voice fading into a sleepy whisper.
His lips hover dangerously close to Atsushi’s neck, and each breath sends a shiver down Atsushi’s spine as it brushes against his skin. Atsushi’s pulse quickens again, his mind teetering on the edge of panic.
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi whispers, his voice tinged with desperation, though he isn’t sure what he’s pleading for—for Dazai to move away or for him to move even closer. The words come out strangled, lost in the haze of his thoughts. This was a mistake. He should’ve convinced Dazai to drink the tea instead, but now here’s here, stuck in one bed with Dazai pressed firmly against him.
Dazai shifts again and his nose nuzzles into the crook of Atsushi’s neck. Atsushi’s breath hitches. His entire body goes rigid as he stares at the ceiling, praying to any god that exists. Focus. Dazai is sick. He trusts me to take care of him, he tells himself, even as his mind races to every place it shouldn’t. The warmth of Dazai’s breath against his skin, the softness of his hair brushing Atsushi’s cheek—it’s all too much. His imagination spirals out of control, conjuring images of Dazai’s lips trailing down his neck, over his collarbone, down his torso, and—
No, no, no. Stop it, he orders himself, but his body isn’t listening. A flush rises to his face, and he’s acutely aware of every inch of contact between him and Dazai. Everything feels so hot. Is Atsushi getting sick as well already? Oh fuck. He’s getting hard, isn’t he? If Dazai notices, Atsushi will have to move out of the flat. Or leave the country. Or maybe become an astronaut and leave the planet entirely—anything to avoid facing Dazai ever again.
He bites his lip, trying to keep his breathing steady, but it’s no use. The intoxicating warmth of Dazai’s body against his own sends his thoughts spiraling into a point of no return. He risks a glance down at Dazai’s face, noticing a thin layer of sweat on his forehead that makes strands of his hair cling to his skin. Without thinking, he reaches out to gently brush the damp hair away, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. Dazai sighs softly at the touch, a contented sound that tugs at something deep in Atsushi’s chest. His gaze, as if drawn by a force beyond his control, drifts to Dazai’s lips again.
It’s always like this—his eyes betray him, locking onto Dazai’s mouth as if by a magnetic force. The temptation to close the distance, to press his lips to Dazai’s, lingers at the back of his mind, and it’s almost impossible to resist with Dazai so close, practically in Atsushi’s arms. How would those lips look kiss-swollen? Desire washes over Atsushi, but so does an overwhelming guilt. Dazai is in a vulnerable state right now and Atsushi can’t—won’t—betray that trust.
It takes everything in him to look away.
After a while, it gets easier, at least when Dazai stops moving in his sleep and Atsushi manages to relax his muscles once more. The heat of two bodies under a thick layer of blankets is too much, but he doesn’t dare leave in fear of disturbing Dazai. He needs all the sleep he can get to fight off this fever. There’s not much to do, though, except listen to the gentle rhythm of Dazai’s breaths, so not long after he’s pulled into slumber.
*
Atsushi wakes to an empty bed.
Blinking sleepily, he squints at the light streaming through the window. It’s morning already, though he can’t quite remember when he drifted off. He sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair to untangle the clumped strands. As he swings his legs out of bed, a strange feeling of unease washes over him.
Something’s off.
On the bedside table stands a bowl of curry and a mug full of tea, both untouched. The realization hits him—it’s Dazai’s room, Dazai’s bed. Dazai got sick last night. But where is he now?
Atsushi’s heart skips a beat as he springs out of bed. “Dazai-san?” he calls out, his voice tight with concern. He hurries down the hallway, his bare feet tapping against the cold tiles as he heads for the kitchen.
When he arrives, he freezes. Dazai is standing at the stove, casually making breakfast as if he hadn’t been burning with fever just hours before.
Atsushi blinks in disbelief. Had he imagined the whole thing? Was it all just a dream?
“Why are you looking at me like I’m a ghost?” Dazai chuckles, throwing him a glance over his shoulder before returning to his task.
“Uh… do you feel better already?” Atsushi asks, his voice tentative.
Dazai grins, spreading his arms wide. Atsushi watches as egg yolk splatters across the counter when Dazai waves a spatula wildly in the air. “Like a brand new person! Atsushi-kun must have some secret healing powers.”
Atsushi smiles, though confusion still clouds his mind. “Yeah, sure.” He joins Dazai by the stove and takes in the aroma coming from the pan. “Eggs?”
“Yeah.” Dazai stirs the pan to keep the eggs from sticking. “And thanks for last night, by the way,” Dazai adds, his tone more genuine now.
“Don’t mention it,” Atsushi replies, though a fleeting thought crosses his mind—what would Dazai do if their roles were reversed? Would he climb into Atsushi’s bed just as readily?
Dazai turns off the stove and turns to face Atsushi. “I should make it up to you somehow,” he says, but the tone in which he says it is strange. Atsushi glances at the pan—the eggs are still not done.
“There’s no need, really,” he insists, narrowing his eyes. What is going on?
Dazai takes a step towards him. Atsushi takes a step back and feels the cold metal of the fridge press against him. Dazai is so close—too close—his head tilted with a knowing smile. “But Atsushi-kun was so brave, keeping his hands to himself all night.”
Atsushi’s breath hitches. The way Dazai is looking at him and that satisfied grin on his face send a surge of panic through Atsushi. Shit, he knows. Atsushi’s heart is pounding in his chest. He braces himself for the inevitable teasing, the laughter that’s sure to follow.
But Dazai doesn’t laugh.
Instead, he closes the remaining distance between them, gently cupping Atsushi’s face in his hands. Atsushi is too stunned to move, too caught off guard to do anything but stare as Dazai’s gaze softens.
“I really caused you some trouble last night, didn’t I? It’s only right I should make it up to you,” Dazai murmurs, and before Atsushi can process the words, Dazai’s lips are on his.
This isn’t how Atsushi expected this morning to go, but it’s not like what happened last night was a common occurrence either. It’s too much all at once—he didn’t even have his breakfast yet and his brain doesn’t start working before he eats something. His mind reels, struggling to catch up. By the time he remembers he should kiss back if he doesn’t want Dazai to think this attention is unwanted, Dazai is already pulling away, so he grabs Dazai by his T-shirt and yanks him back, crashing their lips together in a kiss that leaves no room for doubt.
*
By the time they find themselves back in Dazai’s bed, tangled up and this time both very much awake, the eggs remain forgotten in the kitchen. Dazai’s lips are tinted pink and swollen, and Atsushi can’t tear his gaze away, knowing he’s the one who made them that way. With his hair fanned out across the pillow and his mouth parted in a quiet moan, Dazai is an addictive sight that Atsushi doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of.
Nothing could ruin this perfect morning, Atsushi thinks as they lie together later, drained of all energy. Dazai’s head rests on Atsushi’s chest, and Atsushi lazily cards his fingers through Dazai’s hair, too content to speak. He wants to ask Dazai if he planned it all out, if he noticed how often Atsushi’s eyes strayed to his lips, but all those questions can wait.
Then he sneezes.
Dazai raises his head from Atsushi’s chest, narrowing his eyes as he studies Atsushi. He presses the back of his hand to Atsushi’s forehead, and a wide smile spreads across his face.
“I think you’re getting a fever, my dear Atsushi-kun!”
Atsushi groans, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Why do you sound so happy about it?”
Dazai chuckles, brushing a few stray strands of hair from Atsushi’s face. “Because now I can take care of you, just like you took care of me.”
Atsushi laughs softly. “I don’t if I’m a good point of reference. You didn’t even touch the curry I made.”
“For which I sincerely apologize,” Dazai replies, his grin widening, “but I couldn’t help it. Having you in bed with me was a far better alternative.”
Atsushi rolls his eyes playfully. “Then make it up to me with breakfast.”
“For you, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai’s eyes light up with a mix of affection and mischief, “I can even finish making those eggs.”